


Tainted

by Energy_Purple



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Hurt Dean Ambrose, Hurt Roman Reigns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Protective Sami Zayn, Protective Seth Rollins, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Energy_Purple/pseuds/Energy_Purple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was why Roman hadn’t seemed overly excited about his championship win. </p><p>Because Roman knew that he wasn’t supposed to be champion.</p><p>He was just a fraud holding Roman’s place until he could come back.</p><p>***************************************************************************************************************<br/>After finding out about Roman's suspension, Dean begins to question everything he had finally begun to believe in.</p><p>His victory. His sanity. His Roman.</p><p>Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think absolutely everyone has heard about Roman's 30 day suspension for wellness policy violation. 
> 
> I'm not using this to sit there and say one way or another whether Roman deserves his punishment/"he must be guilty"/he's messing around with drugs etc. etc. etc.
> 
> This is entirely based off of some of the headlines I saw regarding Dean's championship win and how Roman's suspension could potentially have factored into things; the idea wriggled into my brain and refused to leave unless I wrote it.
> 
> So yeah, Roman's suspension from Dean's perspective. I apologise if Dean comes off a bit OOC, I haven't had any sleep or any beta look this over.
> 
> Should be a two parter at most!
> 
> Italics are background noises/headlines/read stuff/flashbacks, bold is internal thoughts.
> 
> As usual, if you have any questions, comments, critiques, queries or you just want to place your bets on what'll happen next, then feel free to leave me a review!
> 
> (On an unrelated note: I'm so fucking happy that Dean is now champion, regardless <3 )

**_Message received 19:26_ **

_I messed up, babe. I’ll explain tonight. Love you – Ro._

**********************************************************************************

**_ROMAN REIGNS SUSPENDED_ **

_WWE has suspended Joe Anoa’I (Roman Reigns) for 30 days effective immediately for his first violation of the company’s talent wellness policy._

_*_

_WWE suspends dethroned champion!_

_Top WWE wrestler Roman Reigns suspended over drug use!_

_Did WWE know about Wellness Policy violation before Money in the Bank?!_

_Roman Reigns drops WWE title after failed drug test!_

_Roman Reigns’ Suspension a major opportunity for Dean Ambrose?!_

_*_

**_@WWERomanReigns_ **

_I apologize to my family, friends and fans for my mistake in violating WWE’s wellness policy. No excuses. I own it._

**********************************************************************************

Dean’s hands were shaking at he stared down in disbelief at the constant stream of notifications on his phone, the WWE title draped across his knees as he sat on the edge of the bed in their shared hotel room.

Roman? Suspended?

He almost refused to believe it.

This had to be a work. That was it, Dean nodded frantically to himself, digging his fingertips into his championship belt. His championship that he won fair and square. His championship that he had rightfully earned after so long coming up short to his brothers.

This was all just an elaborate story to push their storyline, right? After all, there was no way he was won the most prestigious title in their industry just because the company had no choice but to get it off Roman, right?

His victory wasn’t tainted in this way, surely? He was meant to have the belt. This was his time. He’d finally been given the chance he’d been desperately clawing away at for over 3 years…

But as Dean kept scrolling through the news sites and gossip blogs, the comments and the videos, he couldn’t shake the nausea curdling in his gut. He couldn’t control the sickening way his heart seemed to grow heavier and heavier in his chest as he tried to find some inkling that this was all just a joke, a rib, that this wasn’t sending the voices in his head into overdrive.

This wasn’t a joke.

Roman had been suspended.

Management had known before the pay-per-view that he’d failed a drugs test.

 _Roman_ had known before the pay-per-view that he’d failed a drugs test.

And yet none of this had been mentioned to him when creative had come up to him on the morning of the event and told him that by the end of the night, he’d be standing tall as champion. Dean had assumed that this was part of the ongoing cycle of revenge against Seth, that Roman and Seth had both agreed to it because this was finally, fucking finally Dean’s chance to climb to the mountain top.

And now?

Everything Dean thought he knew was crumbling into dust around him. Roman? Suspended. His title victory? Only because it needed to be taken off of his brother. His heartfelt speech, thanking the fans for supporting him, for keeping him alive and motivated as he picked himself up and dusted himself off as he crawled on his hands and knees towards the light?

**_Worthless…_ **

**_Second rate…_ **

**_Empty…_ **

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. Switching his mobile to silent, he dropped it behind him on the bed as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees, hands bracing his face as he stared down at the belt.

He was overreacting.

The rumour mill always blew things out of proportion; there was no point in getting himself worked up about something without getting the facts first. There was no point in having a panic without talking to Roman first.

Until then, there was nothing he could do but try to calm down. Relax. This was all just a big mistake, and once he hears those words come out of Roman’s mouth, he’ll chastise himself for even thinking half of the shit he is right now.

But Dean knew that it would not be that easy. Now that he thought about it, he could clearly remember how Roman had reacted the night before once they’d made their ways backstage after the show was over.

_It seemed like everyone on the roster was willing to come by and celebrate Dean’s historic victory; Sami had practically tackled him to the ground in a tight hug, Kevin had given him a brief shoulder bump with that grin that told Dean he was legitimately happy for him, he’d been given a standing ovation by the few guys left in catering, the atmosphere had been absolutely incredible. Dean had no shame in admitting that he’d been genuinely choked up by their reactions._

_By the time he’d managed to get back to his locker room, Roman had finished his shower and was packing up the last of his things, his movements slow and methodical. Dean had to resist the urge to jump on him then and there, but his own body was beginning to remind him of the hellacious match he’d gone through himself, and he snuck up behind him, wrapping his arms around Roman’s waist as he buried his face in Roman’s shoulder._

_Roman had tensed very briefly before turning in Dean’s grip, a soft smile on his lips as he brought his arms up to gently loop around Dean’s neck._

_“Hey Champ…”_

_Roman’s words were whispered with an awed hush as he pressed a brief kiss to Dean’s temple, working his way down Dean’s sweaty face until their lips met, Roman’s hands moving to cradle Dean’s cheek. Dean’s eyes had slipped shut, his fingers running up the length of Roman’s spine before settling against his throat; he could feel Roman’s pulse beating beneath his fingertips, and he couldn’t help but gasp when Roman wound his hand into Dean’s wet hair, dragging him deeper into the kiss for a few moments before pulling away._

_Dean whined as the contact was reluctantly broken, the exhaustion in his body slowly being overtaken by a heat and bone deep desire for the man in front of him; he gave a soft sigh though as Roman’s thumb caressed his cheek, dipping down to brush against the edge of Dean’s kiss swollen lips. It was all Dean could do not to suck that digit into his mouth on each pass._

_Dean could feel himself shivering as he finally opened his eyes, staring straight into that spellbinding grey gaze that he loved so much. They were warm and full of pride…_

_But something in Roman’s eyes didn’t seem quite right. Roman’s eyes had always been particularly expressive, incapable of hiding anything from Dean; Dean could read Roman like a book just from the way his eyes lit up, or where he held his gaze._

_But now? There was warmth and pride, sure, but it seemed shallow. Lost._

_A little bit fake._

_There was a glassiness to Roman’s stare too, but yet again, Dean had been on the edge of tears since he’d been given the belt in the middle of the ring. He’d put it down to Roman being exhausted and emotionally drained; he had just lost his championship after all, and even it being around Dean’s waist instead of Seth’s didn’t mean that it would necessarily be any easier for Roman to process._

_When they’d both managed to get back to the hotel room, there hadn’t been any special celebrations for Dean’s title win; considering that Dean had gone all out to make Roman feel like a god after each of his championship matches, Dean felt somewhat put out and a little bit disappointed that he hadn’t been afforded the same attention, but he didn’t let it get to him. They were both dying for some sleep after all, all of the aches and pains from the ladder match beginning to throb under Dean’s skin. After a quick shower, Dean had found himself laying on their shared bed, Roman curled up against his back as his arms wrapped protectively around Dean’s stomach. Their legs were entwined, Roman’s head on Dean’s shoulder as he grazed his teeth and lips along Dean’s throat, the occasional nip of pain being instantly soothed by Roman’s tongue._

_As much as Dean enjoyed it, heat blooming in his chest at the adoration being laved on him, it still didn’t feel quite right. It was lazy, distracted attention, and Roman had never been about that; when he loved, he did it with every ounce of his being._

_It felt… off._

_But, with the heaviness of sleep pulling at Dean, and Roman’s honey-gravelled tone bathing him with whispered words of praise and affection as he traced Dean’s throat with his mouth, his fingertips stroking the leanly muscled skin of his abdomen, Dean found himself fighting a losing battle._

_They were both tired, that was all, and as Dean drifted off to sleep, he tried to cast any shadowy doubts from his mind…_

Dean knew that there’d been something off, that Roman was hiding something from him, and now he knew.

As much as he desperately tried to keep a lid on his emotions, trying to rationalise with himself that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, Dean could feel his insecurities and demons starting to claw at him. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, his eyes glazing over with a film of tears he couldn’t hold back. It was pathetic. It was pointless. He still had everything he’d had before, he’d still earned everything himself, right?

Right?

But even as he tried to swallow against the lump in his throat, flashes of headlines and gossip blogs flittered across his mind. _“The WWE knew about Reigns’ suspension before MITB, so they had no choice but to drop it.” “The only reason Ambrose was given the title is because of Roman’s violation. Everyone knows that without that, Ambrose would never be anywhere near the championship.” “Ambrose will only ever be a last choice, transitional champion to keep fans happy until Reigns returns.” “The WWE had run out of options.”_

Last choice. Last option. The unwanted and undeserved belt warmer until Roman returned.

God, Dean knew that the internet was full of shit not even worth bothering with, inflammatory opinions and people who gave no care to abusing him and his profession, but those words kept spinning around and around in Dean’s head, screaming louder and louder, scratching deeper and deeper until Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

Dean was shaking as he looked back down at the title belt draped across his thighs. His distorted reflection stared back at him, the shine now almost looking brassy and fake.

 ** _Tainted_** …

Everything he thought he’d finally achieved was all off of the back of panicked last minute decisions and a need to shift the belt. He was at the top of the mountain, but with no support ropes to help him if he fell. No backup from management or the people with the power. Only perched there with fan support that was always known to be a fickle mistress.

That was why Roman hadn’t seemed overly excited about his championship win.

Because Roman knew that he wasn’t supposed to be champion.

He was just a fraud holding Roman’s place until he could come back.

Meaningless.

There was no point in blinking back the tears that Dean could feel faintly rolling down his face, dripping off his chin to land on his belt.

**_No, not his belt._ **

**_Roman’s belt._ **

**_You will always be second best…_ **

**_They will all know now…_ **

**_The fans… Your so-called friends…_ **

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he couldn’t hold back the choked sob that passed his lips as he stood up suddenly, letting the belt fall to the floor.

**_Tainted…_ **

**_Cheap…_ **

Dean could feel the anger stirring deep in his gut, fuelled by the demons and voices singing their familiar songs of self-loathing and emptiness. It was brittle though, like trying to hold back the crashing waves threatening to drown him with nothing but his own hands, slipping through his fingers like sand as he felt the nausea roiling in his gut.

**_Never meant to be champion…_ **

**_Not even a blip on the scale…_ **

**_Unworthy…_ **

**_Last choice. Last option…_ **

“Shut up…”

**_Roman was lying to you…_ **

**_He doesn’t think you can be a champion…_ **

“Shut up!”

**_Roman doesn’t care… Hiding the truth from you…_ **

**_Would someone who claims to love you do this to you?_ **

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!”

Dean dropped down into a crouch, hands balled into fists as he rested his forehead on his knees. It had always been his reaction when the voices in his head became too much to bear, to curl up as small as he could and hope that they disappeared, but it wasn’t working this time.

A snarl turned into a whine turned into another agonising sob as he screwed his eyes shut, beating his knuckles against his temple. That logical smidge of his brain that was telling him he was overreacting, that he needed to take a deep breath and stay calm, had all but been drowned under the torrid icy flood.

Just another thing wrong with him.

Biting down hard on his lip, Dean instantly tasted blood, and for a second it was enough to briefly ground him.

But not quite enough.

He felt sick. He _was_ sick. A masochistic fraud trying to convince himself otherwise.

“Dean?”

Dean froze, painfully swallowing down the cry that threatened as the sound of his name filtered through the hazy layers surrounding his brain.

The sound of his name coming from _his_ lips.

Dean pushed himself back up to standing, roughly scrubbing his palm across his eyes in a futile attempt to disguise the tears that refused to let up as he turned to face the other person in the room.

Dean had no idea how long Roman had been standing there, but the wide eyed concern and guilt in those hypnotising grey eyes emphatically told Dean that Roman had been there long enough to see at least a part of his meltdown.

 ** _Good_** …

Blinking back the insistent dampness budding at the corners of his eyes, Dean met the older man’s gaze, his fists clenching and unclenching convulsively by his side.

Roman looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his hair pulled loose from its ponytail as he struggled to maintain eye contact. He didn’t look imposing and all-powerful, his presence not filling every inch of the room in crackling energy like normal.

He looked small. Tired. Human.

Dean’s heart lurched in his chest, but it still did nothing to stop the demons crawling in his veins.

“Dean, baby?”

Dean snapped.

“Don’t you fucking ‘baby’ me, Roman!”

Dean’s voice was dripping with acid, and Roman flinched at the tone. Actually _flinched_.

Roman lifted his arms up in a sign of surrender, taking a step towards the unstable man. Dean held his ground, violently trembling as the tears started streaming once more down his clammy cheeks. His nails digging into his palm, he wrapped a hand around the juncture of his own throat, tapping a manic rhythm.

“Dean, please. I made a mistake. It was an accident. I never meant for it to happen.”

**_I never meant for you to be champion…_ **

Roman took another step forward, slowly reaching out his hand. Brushing the back of his fingers down Dean’s cheek, it was all but impossible for Dean not to recoil away from the touch like he’d been burnt. Roman wouldn’t be denied however; rubbing his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone, wiping away the errant tears slipping down his face.

Dean physically could feel himself melting into Roman’s touch; he couldn’t help it, it was an instinctive response no matter what was going through Dean’s mind, and in that moment Dean couldn’t help but loath himself for it.

**_So weak…_ **

“Did you know?”

A brief look of confusion crossed Roman’s face, and Dean couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss him or punch him.

“Did you know before the match?”

Dean’s voice was wrecked and raw, the beginnings of a migraine scrapping behind his eyes. He needed to know.

Roman held his breath.

A tiny flicker of hope desperately flitted through Dean-

“Yes.”

-Destroyed by one whispered word. Buried by the guilt-ridden expression in Roman’s eyes.

And Dean felt his heart crack.

Roman made no attempt to move or defend himself as Dean stepped away, and Dean couldn’t work out if that made him feel better or worse for it. Roman was supposed to be the strong one of the two. He was supposed to be the guiding light that saved Dean from crashing into the cliffs. The rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet. His world had always revolved around Roman’s steady presence, and now it felt like everything was wildly spinning off-kilter with no way back to safety.

This wasn’t his Roman. Oh, it was his eyes and his hands and his lips, but it wasn’t _his_ Roman.

His Roman’s face wasn’t supposed to crumple as Dean grabbed his phone and his keycard, stuffing them into his pockets with shaking fingers.

His Roman’s eyes weren’t supposed to glaze over with unshed tears as Dean pulled his sneakers on.

His Roman’s hands weren’t supposed to stay dangling by his side, defeated, as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket.

“Dean, please, I’m sorry, just let me explain…”

His Roman’s voice was never supposed to sound like that. Broken.

Dean let out a deep sigh, the anger in his words replaced with a bitter pain that only made him feel more ill as it seeped out into the room.

“I need air…”

Dean never looked back once, never saw Roman’s eyes fall on the championship belt now discarded on the floor, as he slipped out the room, letting the door slam shut behind him as he made his way down the hotel corridor.

He needed advice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you know where I said that this would be a 2 parter at most? Yeah, a funny thing happened. Looking more at a 4, or even 5 parter, depending on how things go.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and commented! I completely understand the divide of opinions people have regarding what Roman's status is after his suspension, so I'm re-iterating that this fic was spawned primarily from the online news/gossip/video sites and how I thought things could have gone if this was the case. I am very open-minded regarding the actual circumstances.
> 
> That being said, I hope you all enjoy this, and let me know below what you think!

He’d been half asleep when he heard the faint knock on his door. Rolling onto his front with a huff, he’d almost written it off as a figment of his imagination when he heard the sound again. It was faint, but it was most certainly there.

Throwing the covers off in frustration, he barely had time to register the taunting glow of the clock on the cabinet – _01:36_ – when the knocking hesitantly picked up.

“For _fucks_ sake, hold on a minute!”

It was more of a rough whine than the angry shout he was going for, thankful that he had decided to sleep in his sweatpants for once. Normally, people knew better than to wake him up; despite the constant exuberating energy he channelled during the day, he really did need a decent night’s sleep to stop him from being an irritable son of a bitch.

This only increased tenfold after pay-per-views when he somehow had to drag himself through the physical pain and exhaustion the next day. He had a position on the roster to maintain after all; fighting through the aches and bruises was what he had learned to do best.

But that didn’t mean that he appreciated being woken up at fucking stupid o’clock after the back to back matches he’d put himself through; the pay-per-view was one thing, but then two hellacious tapings would have been enough for anyone.

Swinging himself around to sit on the edge of the bed, he stretched, wincing at the series of pops and cracks his joints made before he pushed himself up onto his feet, his tight muscles protesting every single movement. He’d forgotten to switch the lamp on by his bedside – _of course he had_ – so he carefully shuffled across the room, trying to avoid his bags and clothes that had been haphazardly thrown to the floor as he’d fallen into bed. The last thing he wanted to do was to catch any of the bumps or bruises he’d managed to accumulate over the last couple of days.

The knocking had silenced just as he’d reached the door, and he could feel the annoyance bleeding through him. If he’d been woken up by some stupid prank or a drunkard who’d forgotten what room they were actually supposed to be in, then he was going to scream.

Was it too much to ask for a good 8 hours?

Clenching his fist, he turned the handle, flinging the door open with a soft bang. The light from the corridor was intense, and for a brief few moments he could barely see, blinking back the sleep from his eyes.

“I swear to god that you better have a fucking good reas-”

He was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight in front of him.

Well, he most definitely hadn’t been expecting _that_.

It took him a second to realise that he was gawping, and he silently closed his mouth, his eyes widening in mild shock. There was a tension in his shoulders, his instinctive reaction to anyone invading his personal space at ridiculous times of the day or night, and he took a deep breath to try and relax his posture as he glanced over the figure in front of him.

“Dean?”

He’d known Dean for a long time, but he’d never seen Dean look anything like this in all of the time they’d associated with each other.

Dean was shaking, his arms wrapped self-consciously around his waist. Even though his gaze remained firmly fixed to the floor, it was easy to see that Dean had been crying.

No, correction, he thought, he was _still_ crying. And goddamn if that didn’t make his gut knot in spite of himself.

Dean’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, tears streaking down his clammy cheeks; his lips were swollen and bleeding, a classic habit of Dean’s whenever he was nervous or upset about something. He looked pale, nauseous, his shoulders slumped and making him look considerably smaller than his full height.

He certainly didn’t look like a man who had just won the WWE Heavyweight championship.

He looked like a child who’d just been told everything they thought they knew was a lie. He looked like his whole world had just been wrecked in the blink of an eye. He looked like it physically hurt him to breathe, let alone be standing in front of his hotel room at near 2am.

Simply put, Dean looked absolutely _destroyed_.

And despite everything, he could feel his heart skip a beat in sympathy.

After a few tense moments of silence, the only sound being the choked sobs that Dean was desperately trying to hold back, Dean finally met his gaze.

“Seth…”

Dean’s voice cracked, and Seth could see the walls crumbling down, Dean collapsing into him like a marionette that had all of its strings cut. It was only Seth’s reflexes, despite being dulled by sleep as they were, that meant he caught Dean before he crumpled to the floor.

Seth stood immobile, unable to decipher why the man in his arms had come to him out of anyone else in the world; it was no secret that Seth and Dean’s friendship had fallen into irreparable damage after the breakdown of the SHIELD, their previously friendly interactions now marred by distrust and venom that had only been amplified by their vicious storyline.

In short, Dean was the last person that Seth would ever have thought would turn up on his doorstep.

And whilst there was that anger burning in his gut that was bubbling away at the audacity Dean had to come to him after robbing him of his championship moment, there was also no denying the throbbing ache in Seth’s chest at the heartbreaking sight before him.

Casting his eyes upwards as he slowly counted to 10, he tentatively wrapped his arms around Dean, guiding his face into the crook of his neck as he ran his fingers softly through Dean’s sweaty hair to cradle the back of his head. It was a familiar stance, one that dated back to the early days whenever Dean needed a bit of comfort.

Seth could feel the bile clawing at his throat, his head screaming at him to let Dean go and slam the door back in his face for even daring to come to him. It was tempting, oh god it was tempting, but the limp weight of Dean pressed against him, ugly crying against his throat as his fingers desperately grabbed at Seth’s shoulders, made Seth feel a little bit bad.

He might have been cruel and sadistic, ready and willing to crawl over everybody to regain his spot at the top of the mountain, but goddamn it, this felt just a little bit too evil, even for him.

Tightening his arms around Dean for a brief second, Seth let out a sigh.

“For god’s sake, come on, get in here…”

Dean didn’t say a word as he pulled away from Seth before making his way inside Seth’s hotel room. Taking a deep breath, Seth pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes as he followed Dean in, kicking the door shut behind him.

So fucking help him, Dean owed him big time for this.

* * *

 

Roman had been sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees and his face curtained by long black hair when he’d heard the loud, insistent knocking on their hotel room door. Uncurling himself, he spared a glance at the clock – _01:54_ – before pushing himself to his feet.

It felt like the world had slowed to snail’s pace, Roman’s limbs heavy like he was wading through treacle as he limped his way across the room. His entire body ached, his bruises throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

A heart he was surprised even _was_ still beating.

He knew that he’d fucked up.

As much as he wished he could deny it, bury the accusations and sharp words of disappointment, he was a proud man. He was his father’s son, taught from the youngest age that the most important thing to do was to be honest, to stand up and face the consequences of your actions head-on, even if those actions cost you dearly.

That was why Roman had had no qualms about releasing a statement on Twitter, about owning up to his mistakes and admitting that he’d screwed up on something so basic, apologising to those who stood and supported him in the face of the crap he received on a nightly basis from the fans who attacked and trolled him.

What he hadn’t thought about, however, was how on earth he was going to admit all of this to Dean. He’d hoped that in sending a text to his brother and clueing Dean in ahead of time, it would give Dean the chance to absorb all the information and the bullshit; Dean would be angry and upset with him, yeah, but he’d have hopefully burnt through all of his vitriol and fire before Roman got back.

He’d hoped that would have meant that Dean would be able to listen to him, to hear him out.

Roman never thought in a million years that it would backfire so horrifically on him.

He’d known that Dean wouldn’t take the news well.

He knew that Dean would internalise it, provide fuel for the demons and instability that the younger man had crawling beneath the surface of his skin even at the best of times.

He hadn’t thought though, that Dean would… he would…

God, Dean had looked absolutely _broken_.

Roman had been terrified watching Dean’s spiral into self-destruction and chaos, white hot pain agonisingly stabbing through him at the sobs and the screams coming from the one man he’d promised never to let down.

It was torture.

The expression on Dean’s face when he realised that Roman was there, when it finally dawned on Dean that he could no longer rely on Roman to be the glorious beacon of light and strength and love…

Roman wiped his hands roughly down his face, his gut twisting itself into knots as the full ramifications of what he’d done hit him. Even despite the incessant knocking on the door demanding Roman’s immediate attention, he couldn’t stop himself from wallowing in the wave of self-hatred that ebbed over him.

He’d thought that not telling Dean about his impending suspension was the best option. He wanted Dean to take centre stage, to celebrate his victory without Roman’s fuck up tainting the raw emotion and happiness that Dean had exuded in the middle of the ring after picking up the win.

Dean had deserved his moment to shine, to stand triumphant in the face of adversity.

Okay, so yeah, Roman may have been trying to defend his image a little, trying to salvage his own standing in the face of the world, but that didn’t mean that he had never put Dean first during this entire debacle.

All he wanted was to protect Dean from the criticisms that he knew would be levelled at the younger man; he’d hoped that by waiting a couple of days for Dean to see how supported and loved he was by the fans, Dean would have some kind of safety net to cushion the blow of Roman’s mistake and convince him that he truly did deserve to be holding the belt.

To say that Roman had failed miserably, _again_ , would be an understatement.

He’d never meant to hurt Dean. Now though? Even hurting Dean would have been preferable to the utter devastation he’d caused his brother.

The banging on the door was just becoming more and more obnoxious now, and Roman could feel what little control he had left beginning to splinter.

“Fucking hell, I’m coming, _alright_?”

The knocking stopped almost immediately.

Running a hand roughly through his hair, Roman took a deep breath, trying to roll the tension out that had begun pulling in his shoulders. There was no point in him getting angry after all; if he wanted to solve anything right now, he knew he needed to be calm.

As he put his hand on the door knob, a brief spark of hope in him was almost hoping that Dean would be the one on the other side, but he dismissed it instantly. The chances of Dean coming back to the room tonight was less than zero; Dean may have said that he wanted to get some air, but he knew Dean like the back of his hand.

No, he’d be lucky if he was allowed anywhere near Dean for the next few hours, days even. He knew that Dean would be curled up on someone’s couch somewhere, shutting himself off from any and all help that anyone would frantically try and give him. Dean needed space, but he also needed people, and trying to toe that line sometimes was like trying to walk a tightrope 100 feet off the ground with no safety wires.

Roman almost wished he could text the younger man; even if Dean didn’t respond, he knew that Dean would at least read the messages. Something he learned in the past was not to underestimate the power that a text or a written confession could have when trying to break through that first impenetrable wall of defence Dean built up around himself in these situations.

But even Roman knew it was too soon.

Dean just needed time to calm down, wear himself out and spin himself into the ground before Roman could even think about approaching him.

With this in mind, Roman swung open the door.

Roman’s eyes were downcast, but that soft, bitter chuckle was unmistakable.

“So, I’m going to hazard a crazy guess and say that Deano’s not here then.”

Roman briefly winced before he lifted his head, glancing at the much shorter man.

“No”, Roman’s voice was whisper soft and raw around the edges as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Dean’s not here.”

Catching the brown eyed stare across from him, Roman felt himself shrink just a little bit. There was an anger in the face opposite him, but there was also sympathy, an understanding, someone who seemed willing to listen and hear him out.

And god help him, but Roman desperately latched onto the sliver of hope, convulsively reaching out his hand to grab the wrist of the older man. When the other man didn’t pull away, merely raising his eyebrow as he slipped his free hand into his jacket pocket, Roman could feel his fingers trembling.

“Please, I... I need your help. I… I’ve lost him, he-he’s gone.”

Roman winced at the tone of his voice; he felt so weak in front of the other man, like such a failure. Long gone was his perfectly crafted image of power and strength, replaced by this shadow of his usual self. No longer did he stand proud on the top of the mountain, the king of the jungle, the man.

That age-old adage was true then; the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

And Roman felt like he had fallen into a bottomless pit.

Roman was so caught up in his ruminations that he wasn’t aware of the other man taking a step closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Roman, breathe, okay? Calm down.”

Was Roman panicking? He wasn’t aware that he was panicking, but then again, he was barely aware of anything outside of the pain in his chest. As the distinctive lilting words of the man before him began to seep through the blanket surrounding Roman’s brain though, he realised that he was almost hyperventilating.

For fuck’s sake, what was happening to him?

His eyes slipping shut, Roman focused on the thumb rubbing small circles against his shirted skin, trying to bring himself back under some semblance of control. It took considerably longer than Roman would have liked, but he was beginning to get the impression that nothing was going to go his way for at least the foreseeable future.

“Come on, let’s have a chat shall we?”

Roman could feel himself being guided back into their shared hotel room, the hand on his shoulder a steady anchoring presence that he hadn’t expected to have right now. Even if the man had originally been here for Dean, Roman couldn’t help but thank whatever deities were looking over him right now as the door was pushed shut behind him, his words barely above a whisper.

“Thanks Sami.”

The faint squeeze in response gave him a flicker of hope.

Maybe this was fixable.

Roman dreaded to think what would happen if it wasn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a massive thank you to everyone who has read, commented, bookmarked, liked and enjoyed this so far! It makes me so happy to know that people out there are enjoying this!
> 
> Secondly, this is now looking at being a 5 parter, so we've hit the half way point!
> 
> Thirdly, if you have absolutely any comments, critiques, opinions, ideas or thoughts about where you think this is going to head, then please don't hesitate to leave a review!
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, what do I do?”

Seth rubbed a hand down his face as he let his eyes briefly slip shut, wondering for the umpteenth time why Dean had chosen to come to him out of anyone else on the roster.

This was considerably more difficult than Seth had first imagined that it would be.

He’d imagined that Dean would spill the whole sordid tale, not skimping on his own mini breakdown because Dean had always had a flair for the dramatic like that, before coming up with the answer he needed all by himself in some kind of grand epiphany before running out the door and leaving Seth to finally get some sleep.

Nope. That would have been way too simple.

Instead, Seth had perched himself on the edge of his bed, Dean curled up into a ball on the far end of Seth’s couch as Seth had regarded the older man. It had taken nearly 30 minutes of silence, only broken by soft sobs and whimpers as Dean tried to speak only to fizzle out into tears again, before Seth had lost what little patience he’d had.

God damnit, he was fucking tired, and the last thing he wanted was a snivelling Dean Ambrose keeping him up all night crying over his domestic with Roman. Seth had wanted to scream, to demand Dean started talking or he was going to kick him out because it was really fucking annoying.

 _Dean_ was really fucking annoying, with his crying and whinging and those stupid puppy dog eyes and the desperate pleading for some kind of understanding in that steely blue stare and the constant stream of tears that Seth just wanted to brush away with his thumb…

Ugh, Seth’s heart had lurched in his chest.

Even after all of the shit between them, he still wasn’t immune to the freak of nature that was Dean fucking Ambrose.

Seth was going soft.

Instead, Seth had listened intently as Dean spilled out everything going around his head, his words tripping over themselves in an attempt to get everything out that he needed to.

Seth had clenched his fist when Dean had talked about how ridiculously happy he’d been to finally when the title. Seth had felt his stomach knot when Dean had talked about how Roman had reacted in their shared locker room, immediately shutting down the faintly familiar spark of jealousy and longing that he remembered from the early days. Seth had swallowed the dry lump in his throat at the devastation wrought through Dean’s tone when Dean had talked about Roman’s text, about the influx of news sites and gossip reels ripping apart everything that Dean thought he knew…

Even despite the sting of losing his hard fought championship belt to Dean, Seth had found it near impossible to not react to the pain and fear and genuine agony rolling off of Dean in raw waves.

Despite everything that had happened between them, Dean still had that way of getting under Seth’s skin and making the younger man want to wrap him up tight in his arms and shield him from the dangers of the world.

Not that Seth would ever admit that, not on his life.

In the same way that Seth would never admit that he’d known about Roman’s impending suspension since the morning of the pay-per-view.

It may have felt like a low blow, but what Dean didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t lying after all, it was just omitting a few truths, but Seth wasn’t going to admit to that.

After all, there was no point in kicking the man when he was already down; there was no pleasure in adding to someone else’s pain and discomfort if it wasn’t going to benefit him. And right now, Seth didn’t even think he had it in him to want to hurt Dean any more than he already had been by Roman.

Going soft indeed.

Realising that Dean would actually need answering at some point, Seth gave a deep sigh, casting his gaze back to the other man.

“Well, first of all, you’re massively overreacting.”

Hey, just because Seth was apparently going soft didn’t mean that he had to sugar coat everything to spare Dean’s sensibilities.

“I mean, yeah, Roman fucked up big time, but that doesn’t mean that suddenly the world is going to stop spinning.”

Seth paused for a moment before giving Dean a pointed look, his eyebrow raised.

“And besides, it’s not like Roman is the only one here who’s made these kinds of mistakes in the past…”

Dean winced, biting down on his bottom lip as he let his eyes fall to the floor.

Okay, so that was a definite low blow on Seth’s part, but it was unavoidable.

“So yeah, you can call Roman your rock, or your world, or your sun, or whatever sickly sweet shit you wanna dress your relationship up in, but at the end of the day, he’s suffering just as much as you are right now, probably even more so seeing a he’s just had his all amazing superman image blown to shit.”

Dean was silent, his gaze fixed on some random object on the floor; he didn’t look so visibly fragile right now though, which Seth was thankful for, because even he didn’t think he’d be able to survive trying to piece Dean back together piece by jagged piece.

He’d tried that once. Never again. He’d promised himself.

“Why didn’t he tell me though?”

Dean’s voice was just above a whisper, an almost childlike thread of confusion and hurt colouring his tone, and it was getting harder and harder for Seth to remain detached from the situation.

Dean’s eyes were still glassy with unshed tears, his fingers twisting around themselves as he rested his chin on his knees, curling up tighter on himself. Dean was staring at Seth as if he had all of the answers, as if Seth could fix all of Dean’s problems with nothing more but a snap of his fingers.

This entire situation was becoming too eerily reminiscent of the early days, when Dean trusted Seth more than he trusted Roman. When Seth was Dean’s confidant, his guide, his advisor as well as his friend. Before that friendship had been irrevocably destroyed.

Maybe _that_ was why Dean had come to him above anyone else on the roster.

Dean had always struggled to let things go.

And as much as it angered Seth that Dean couldn’t let the fucking past die and let him get on with his own life, Seth couldn’t find it in his heart to throw Dean out on his ass and let him deal with his own problems. At any other time, he would without a single bit of hesitation, but not right now; not when Dean was in the middle of one of the worst crises that Seth had seen him go through.

Goddamn it, this was going to come back and bite Seth in the ass.

“Really? Come on, Ambrose, even you could answer that question.”

Dean briefly glared at Seth, and Seth could barely hide his smirk. Good. Let Dean get angry at him. After all, Seth had always found it so much easier to deal with fists than with tears.

“First of all,” Seth could feel himself settling into his character, his voice dropping with an air of condescension and arrogance usually reserved for the cameras. “Would you want the entire world finding out that you’d made such a fuck up? The quote unquote golden boy finally proving all his critics right and showing he can’t handle the pressure?”

Seth didn’t give Dean any opportunity to even think of an answer, let alone give one, before he continued brazenly. _This_ was finally starting to become enjoyable, even if Seth couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him to cut it out and stop being such a douche.

“Second of all, maybe he wanted to protect you. Big bad Roman protecting his poor little Dean from the evil real world, how about that?”

Finally, that drew a reaction out of Dean, who sat up ramrod straight, a flicker of anger and indignation lighting up his eyes.

“Who says that I fucking need protecting, huh? This ain’t the first time I’ve dealt with this kind of shit, I can look after myself!”

“Says the guy having a breakdown on my couch over some rumour mills and fan opinions…”

Seth didn’t need to be able to read minds to hear the begrudging _touché_ on the cusp on Dean’s lips. It was rather satisfying if he did say so himself.

“I mean, Deano, you’re the fucking champ now. You’ve already said so yourself, there’s people out there who thought you’d never be a champion, and that the only reason you’re wearing gold is because Roman screwed up.”

Dean flinched, his eyes drawn downwards once again. Not quite as satisfying.

“Maybe he thought that if he didn’t tell you straight away, you’d actually believe that you achieved something you’ve deserved for a long time. Maybe it was as much about protecting _your_ image as it was about protecting his? Maybe he wanted to try and prove that your career isn’t as co-dependent on his as the world thinks it is?”

Silence.

Seth finally had Dean right where he needed him. He needed Dean to get all of this through his thick skull and finally understand the situation.

“Or maybe, most importantly, Roman just didn’t want to hurt you? I mean, you two are so fucking sickeningly in love with each other.”

Seth spat out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth, but they were strangely brittle. Resigned. Almost jealous eve-

**_No_ , we are not going there.**

“All that bullshit crap you were spewing earlier about how wonderful and perfect Roman is, maybe he just didn’t want that image of him in your head broken? I mean, even back in the old days, you always said that Roman was the strong one, the protective one, the one who dragged you kicking and screaming from the shadows and made you human blah blah blah… Could you blame him for not wanting to undermine that?”

Silence.

Dean’s eyes met Seth’s.

“I guess not…”

Dean’s words were muttered, hollow, but Seth could feel all of the tension instantly drain from his body at Dean’s admission. It wasn’t a massive statement of agreement, but it was just about enough to prove that he was finally starting to get through to the older man as Seth ran a hand roughly through his hair, pushing it back off of his face.

“Look, alright, I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do because frankly, this isn’t my shit to deal with. This is up to you and Roman to hash out, whether that means beating each other’s faces in or doing whatever lovey dovey shit it is the two of you do.”

Seth’s cheeks were burning red. That was an image he _definitely_ didn’t need in his head.

“For god’s sake, just go and talk to him. _Listen_ to him. I mean, I get that you’re upset and spiralling and all that crap, but Roman’s the one now taking the wrap and the brunt of all this attention, he needs all of the support he can get.”

Dean gave out a soft hum, his hands finally stopping that infuriatingly distracting twisty shit they’d been doing for the better part of the last hour.

“How am I supposed to trust him now, though?”

Seth pinched the bridge of his nose tight, his eyes slipping shut as he took a deep breath.

“I can’t tell you what to do right now Dean, only you can tell yourself what you want to do.”

God that sounded like some cheesy fairy tale bullcrap.

“That sounds like some cheesy fairy tale bull-”

“For fuck’s sake Dean, please shut up.”

Seth had never been so thankful in his life that Dean had decided to listen to him for once.

“All I know right now is that both of you are hurting. Both of you are suffering. And I’m not saying that one of you has it worse off than the other or that kind of crap, but what I am saying is that the two of you need to sit down, get your heads out of your asses, and figure out things by yourself. You need to listen to what he has to say, and you need to make him listen to how this has fucked you up. You’re both in this relationship together, so do the whole relationship thing together and try and fucking fix it, alright?”

Dean looked pensive, and Seth couldn’t help but feel that he’d inadvertently stepped over an invisible line somewhere.

Or that could have been Seth projecting his own invisible line.

Or Seth just projecting in general.

It just all seemed so hypocritical on his part, giving out the advice like this when he hadn’t been able to follow it himself all those years ago. His gut knotted tightly as he let his mind drift, remembering a very similar looking hotel room, Dean across from him just like he was now, but the words being much less civil.

More anger. More betrayal. More pain.

Seth almost wondered if Dean was remembering that night himself. It was hard to swallow, vividly recalling the way that night had ended. It had been Seth’s fault way back then; Seth had done more than just destroy the SHIELD that night, letting everything he’d ever known slip through his fingers like sand.

Letting Dean slip through his fingers.

It was still painful whenever Seth let himself dwell on the past, and even though there was a small part of him that almost wanted Roman to fuck this up completely, he didn’t think he could do that to Dean again.

Seth had been so caught up in his ruminations and thoughts that he hadn’t realised Dean had moved until the older man was standing right in front of him, towering over Seth. There was still agony and pain etched on Dean’s face, his body still shaking, his cheeks still flush and clammy with tears, but there was a spark of relief and determination in his eyes.

Seth didn’t expected the brief hug.

He certainly didn’t expect the softest of kisses to be brushed into his hair, so soft in fact that Seth almost thought he had fantasised it.

“Thank you.”

Dean’s words were still raw, still sounded like he had been gargling glass, but the warmth in them was genuine.

As Dean pulled away with a stretch, Seth could feel the frustration and arrogance tamping down on the fleeting calm that ran through him.

“Now get out of here.”

Seth’s voice was nasally and cold, but as the door to his room was shut and he finally clambered back under the covers, he knew that he wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight.

The nausea and bile was bubbling away in his gut as he tried to forget about Dean’s presence. Tried to remember why he hated the older man so fucking much. Tried and failed despite the fury burning through his veins.

 That fucking goddamn Ambrose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass, so hopefully you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Next up, I wonder how Roman and Sami's chat is going???
> 
> Please remember to review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone, here's the next part for you all!
> 
> This chapter kind of got away from me a bit, but hopefully it isn't too bad. I'll reiterate again, any and all discussion of Roman's suspension is based on current headlines/news/gossip reels/etc, not necessarily my personal opinion, but is just an interpretation of what I think could have maybe happened.
> 
> As usual, italics is flashbacks, bold is internal thoughts.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who has left reviews/liked/subscribed/shared this fic, you have no idea how much I appreciate it! If you have any comments, critiques, or opinions, then please feel free to leave them below!
> 
> Enjoy!

“What am I supposed to do, Sami?”

Sami sat cross legged on the end of Roman’s bed, regarding the younger man wearily. His elbows were on his knees, his chin propped in one hand as he tapped a random rhythm with his other fingertips.

To be perfectly honest, Sami didn’t have a clue.

Roman had his back against the wooden headboard with one long leg stretched out in front of him, his other leg bent towards himself; Roman’s arms were wrapped loosely around his shin, his temple pressed against his knee as he gazed at the older Canadian.

This was the quietest that Sami had ever seen Roman, and he’d have been lying to himself if he said that it wasn’t just a little bit disconcerting. Tears? Screaming and shouting? Violence? Those things Sami could deal with.

But this loaded silence? Sami felt like he was walking on eggshells, with the threatening explosion looming ever closer the longer he tried to tiptoe around the situation.

Sami hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect when he’d allowed himself to be lead into Roman and Dean’s hotel room. Despite the friendship that Sami had struck up in recent months with Dean, Roman had been somewhat off limits. Dean had never really discussed his relationship with the older Samoan, and Sami had never seen it as appropriate to pry into what he knew could potentially be uncomfortable territory for the Ohioan.

In short, Roman was more of an enigma than Dean was to Sami, and that was saying something.

But still, any friend or partner of Dean’s was a friend of his as well, and Sami had sat there quietly as Roman had tried and failed to explain his side of the story, his words tripping over themselves as his frustration with himself grew more and more.

Sami had heard the whispers backstage, had caught sight of some of the rumour mills and news sites – not that he usually paid much attention to backstage gossip unless it directly involved him – but he knew it would be better to hear it straight from Roman himself.

To his credit, Roman had outright admitted his mistake, his voice even and strong as he admitted failing the mandatory drugs testing before Money in the Bank on account of his own inability to check that all of his medications and supplements were 100% kosher. It was Roman’s own fault, his own screw up, and Sami couldn’t help but admire Roman’s character in not denying or hiding it.

After all, regardless of what the fans or critics thought of Roman, Sami knew that not everyone in the locker room would be as open and honest in these kinds of situations.

Sami had said as much to Roman, and the ghost of a smile that briefly flickered across the younger man’s face told Sami that he appreciated it.

The crack in Roman’s façade though came when Dean’s name left Sami’s lips, his eyes glazing over with unshed tears as he stared down at the bedsheet.

Sami wasn’t shocked that Roman had known about his suspension before the pay-per-view. Sami wasn’t even shocked that Roman had somehow managed to convince the higher-ups and creative into giving Dean the championship over Seth; it was obvious from the reaction that Dean had gotten from the crowd that it was best for business, especially if it meant that it could draw attention away from Roman’s suspension.

What had shocked Sami though was the fact that Roman had apparently kept all of this a secret from Dean.

That Roman had clued Dean into the impending shit storm with a goddamn text of all things.

That Dean had found out all of the sordid details from some dodgy sports journalists who instantly ridiculed and undermined his title win.

Dean deserved better than that.

And Sami had bluntly informed Roman of that, his brittle anger shattering at the whisper-soft “I know” he received in response.

God, he’d always thought that Roman was so much stronger than this, the uneffable Samoan badass who protected those he took into his heart with his fists and his life. It was difficult for Sami to reconcile that image of the younger man with the reality sat before him right now.

And if it was difficult for Sami, then god only knew just how bad Dean really had taken it.

Realising that Roman was still waiting on him for some kind of answer, Sami gave a deep sigh, running a hand roughly down his face.

“I don’t know, man. I mean, yeah, it sucks that you tripped up and you’ve got to try and salvage your image and deal with the press on top of it, I get that. And I really do feel sorry for you, because I know you’re a good man, Ro. You’re a good man, you’re honest, and the people appreciate honesty. But, in trying to keep yourself on top as the golden boy, you’ve used Dean as your shield – no pun intended – and it’s blown up in your face.”

“But Dean know I wouldn’t hurt him deliberately.”

“It’s not the same.”

“He knows that I love him.”

“ _Not. The. Same.”_

Sami ground his teeth together, his words harsh as he spat them out. Roman’s narrow glare had quickly dissipated, the younger man flinching under the weight of Sami’s tone, but Sami knew that he couldn’t go easy on Roman right now. A little bit of tough love was always a good first step on the ladder towards understanding.

“What Dean knows and what he’s feeling right about now are two _very_ different things, and I know you know that. This is not the first time that Dean’s emotions will have gotten the better of him, and it most certainly won’t be the last; you know him better than anyone else on this goddamn planet, and yet you still can’t see when he’s suffering right in front of you.”

Roman’s shoulders drew up tight, his jaw squaring off as his hackles raised.

“What do you mean by that, Zayn, huh?”

Sami bit down hard on his bottom lip; he’d said too much.

“Sami,” Roman’s words were not quite as vitriolic as previously, “What are you not telling me?”

Sami could taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his tongue, letting his eyes slip shut for the briefest moment before he straightened up, his gaze fixed on a spot just above Roman’s shoulder.

He’d promised Dean that he would never tell Roman about Wrestlemania.

He’d promised Dean that he would never tell Roman about what happened in the days following that night.

But, as Sami felt his heart sink in his chest, he knew that Roman wouldn’t let go until he’d gotten out of Sami whatever it was that the older Canadian was hiding from him.

“Roman, do you remember the couple of days after Wrestlemania? When Dean was supposed to cut a promo on RAW about his match, but it was moved to Smackdown at the last minute?”

Roman sat up, confusion written clear across his face.

“Yeah, but I don’t get what that has to do with now. Dean was just exhausted and banged up, right?”

Sami gave a groan, silently praying for forgiveness as he squeezed his fingernails into his thighs.

“Not quite.” Sami winced at the wide eyed stare Roman shot at him.

“I found Dean in one of the arena stairwells when everyone was packing up, and he was in a bad way Ro, like the worst I’ve ever seen him. He was in hysterics, covered in blood from punching the walls, barely even noticed that I was there. He was shaking so badly that I thought he was having some kind of fit to start with. He was scratching at himself, smacking at himself, it was brutal.”

Sami paused, trying to hold back the memories of that night. Of just how broken Dean had looked. Shaking his head with a bitter chuckle, Sami pressed on, pointedly ignoring the man sat opposite him; he couldn’t look at Roman right now. He knew that if he did, it would destroy them both.

“He was muttering shit under his breath, calling himself worthless, useless, unneeded, just _bad_. He was bad, and you were too good for him. He was no longer important because you had the title, you didn’t need him anymore, he was weighing you down and polluting your greatness, he was just some scumbag street dog that was going to be put out of its misery because he’d never deserved you, but he loved you and he would do anything for you, and why didn’t you love him?”

_Why doesn’t he love me?_

_Why is the title more important than me?_

_Why can’t he understand?_

_How can I survive without him?_

_Why can’t I let him be happy?_

Sami took a deep breath, feeling the tears begin to bud in the corner of his eyes. His hands were shaking, but that was nothing compared to the trembling that had seized Roman. The younger man looked positively ill, his face pale as tears were running down his cheek. Roman’s mouth was opening and closing convulsively, as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t get the words out; Sami held his hand up, a universal plea to let him continue before he lost all nerve.

“I thought he was drunk to begin with, he just wouldn’t stop clawing at himself. I tried to calm him down as much as I could, but nothing was getting through to him. He just kept repeating over and over about how a fuck-up like him didn’t deserve a champion like you, about how you’d realise how worthless he was and go back to Seth and abandon him all over again.”

Roman just looked stunned.

“I finally managed to drag him back to the hotel; he was scared that you wouldn’t want him spoiling your celebrations, so I took him back to mine. He never stopped talking the entire time, never stopped scratching or crying. I got him dragged into bed, but he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning. He must have reckoned that I was asleep because he started whispering…”

_…’He always said that we’d do everything together, that nothing could break us apart. We were a team, unbreakable, and then he tossed me aside the second the belt came into the frame’…_

_…’Am I worth that little? Am I that unimportant to him? Did he ever really love me in the first place, or am I just a convenient bed warmer for Seth?’…_

_…‘I might as well be dead. At least then he wouldn’t have to put up with me dragging him down’…_

_…’Would he even care if I disappeared?’..._

“He finally wore himself out at like 6ish? And I knew he was in no condition to do anything that day, so I rang up and told management that Lesnar had done a worse number on him than he first thought. They changed his schedule, I left him a note telling him that management had called and given him the day off to recover. When I came back after tapings, he was still there. Didn’t look much better mind you, but he seemed calmer. Apologised for causing me trouble, begged me never to tell you, left it there really. I knew that there was still so much shit he wasn’t admitting to me, but what could I do?”

Sami gave a half-hearted shrug, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. The gaze Roman was levelling at him was so intense that Sami almost felt like he was going to crumble into pieces; the younger man looked absolutely _distraught_.

“Dean never told me… He’s never said… He…”

“This is Dean, though, Roman. You know him better than I do, do you think he’d ever come out and admit that he has feelings or emotions like this?”

Roman shrunk visibly, his hair falling across his face like a curtain as he picked at some invisible thread on his pants.

“But I thought he knew me better than that. I thought he knew just how much I love him…”

Sami gave another soft sigh, reaching forward to rest his hand on top of Roman’s. It wasn’t intrusive or demanding; it was just a friendly touch that served to drain the tension from Roman’s shoulders as the younger man stared helplessly at Sami.

“Trust me, Dean knows how much you love him. If anything, it’s a tiny iota compared to how much he loves you, but as I said before, there’s a huge difference between knowing something and feeling something. Doubly so for Dean. I know that you never meant to hurt him, or cause him to spiral like he has, but at the end of the day, you hid the truth from him. You went behind his back. I know you didn’t mean to, but you inadvertently undermined everything he thought he knew about you. Can you blame him for being so upset?”

Roman shook his head.

“And now, you’ve left him by himself to deal with Seth. And I know that there’s a lot of baggage when it comes to the three of you, and I know that Dean can give as good as he gets, but sometimes you just want your best friend and your lover there at the end of a long day to support you and lift you back up. I know that there’s phones and Skype and all that, but it’s not the same when you just want to hug and kiss everything all better.”

Roman looked pensive, his face regaining its colour. Sami wouldn’t say that he looked calmer, but he certainly didn’t look like he was going to destroy the room in any fits of anger.

It was odd for Sami, to see the play of emotions across Roman’s features. Sure, he’d interacted with the man, they’d hung out and talked before, but this felt like the first time that the two of them had sat down together.

This felt like the first time that Roman had let Sami try and understand what was going on in that head of his. It was odd, especially considering just how markedly opposite Roman was to Dean, but then maybe that’s why they gelled so well together.

After all, it worked for him and Kevin, so why not for Dean and Roman?

Giving Roman’s hand a soft squeeze, Sami uncurled his legs, stretching them out with a series of pops as he swung himself to stand up. He was stopped, however, by Roman’s firm grip on his wrist.

“I’m glad Dean has someone like you watching out for him.”

Sami gave a bright smile, watching the flicker of warmth that lit up Roman’s eyes.

“And I’m glad Dean has you. He really does love you, you know. I’m sure that you can make him understand. You can both get through this.”

Sami wasn’t expecting to be pulled down into a hug, giving an indignant squeak that quickly turned into a huff of laughter.

“Thank you.”

Waiting for Roman to release his hold, Sami made his way across the room; he’d pulled the door half open before he paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Roman.

“Also, for what it’s worth, it’s going to suck not having you on the road. Think of it as a break, chill out, keep your chin up. You’ll bounce back. You’re a good man Roman. I know that you’ll get over this bump.”

Not waiting for Roman’s response, Sami let the door close behind him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest at the sight of Dean leaning against the wall a few metres down the corridor. It was obvious that Dean’s mind was elsewhere, his eyes shut and his hands clenched into tight fists by his side. He jumped out of his skin when Sami rested a hand on his shoulder, not that he’d ever admit that of course.

“Just… give him a chance, okay? This is fixable if you both try.”

Sami’s stomach knotted painfully as Dean’s eyes finally met his; they were clouded with agony and uncertainty, glazed with tears and red-rimmed. It reminded Sami too much of Wrestlemania, and he couldn’t help himself as he pulled Dean into a tight embrace.

Dean’s arms immediately wrapped themselves around Sami’s waist, his head burying itself in the curve of Sami’s neck as one of Sami’s hands came up to cradle the back of Dean’s head, toying gently with his sweat-dampened hair.

“And what if we can’t fix this?”

Dean’s voice was smaller than Sami had ever heard it, and his heart broke in his chest.

“Then you know that me and Kev will always have a couch for you, okay?”

The words were supposed to be flippant, but they were belied by the unsteadiness of Sami’s tone, the familiar chuckle watery and edged with more pain than usual. Dean seemed to appreciate it nonetheless, however, relaxing into Sami’s arms for a few moments before pulling himself away.

The younger man looked an absolute state, his face stained with tears and anger and betrayal, but there was a determination that flitted across Dean’s eyes for a split second before he closed himself off again.

Sami wasn’t offended. Instead, he cupped his palm against Dean’s cheek and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead. It was a friendly gesture, one that both men shared frequently, and Sami could see the tension bleeding out of Dean as he took comfort in the action, a hollow smile tugging at Dean’s facial expressions.

“Thank you.”

Both men shared a small nod before Sami finally turned away, walking in the direction that he’d been heading before he’d seen Dean. Pulling his phone out of his back pocket, he swiped his finger across the lock screen, staring fondly at the home screen background for a few moments before he dialled in a familiar number.

“Hey baby, I know I said earlier about going out with the boys, but d’ya think we could maybe just order some room service and a movie?”

_…“Of course we can. What’s wrong sweetheart, you sound upset?”…_

Sami could feel a solitary tear he'd been holding back running down his cheek at the concern in his lover’s tone.

“I’ll explain later, Kev,” Sami breathed out. “I’ll explain later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I love protective Sami...
> 
> Final chapter coming up! How do you think it's going to go? Do you think Dean and Roman can work through all of this?
> 
> Let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this fic along the way, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it!
> 
> As always, if you have any comments, critiques, ideas or opinions, then please feel free to leave a review!
> 
> Once again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Roman was leaning back against the headboard, barely having had the opportunity to let Sami’s words sink in before he heard the soft beep of a key card unlocking the door. A flicker of confusion crossed Roman’s face for the briefest of moments, until he remembered that Dean had taken the spare key with him when he’d left.

 _Dean_.

Even in spite of Sami’s advice and soothing tone, Roman’s gut knotted so tight that he thought for a second he might actually be violently sick. Was he even ready to face the younger man? Could he really sit there and convince Dean that the whole thing had twisted out of Roman’s control, that Roman truly hadn’t meant to hurt him?

Roman’s heart was thudding in his chest.

He didn’t have an answer for the myriad of questions echoing around his head.

He’d always prided himself on his ability to read Dean like an open book, to punch through that constructed layer of mistrust and cool disinterest and find the true Dean hiding underneath it all. He’d always prided himself on being able to understand and care for Dean better than anyone else on this earth, to drag the scared and broken husk of a man and fit him into his own skin.

But then again, he’d always prided himself on never letting Dean down.

Roman’s eyes were cast upwards, staring at the cobwebs and dirty marks on the ceiling like they were the most interesting things in the world, when the door to their shared room finally opened. Roman wasn’t sure that he’d be able to look at Dean right then, to see the disgust and the pain splayed across the younger man’s expression, so he didn’t.

Yeah, so he was being a bit of a coward, but Roman genuinely had no idea what else he could do about it.

His eyes were still locked skyward when the door closed again.

Hi eyes were still locked skyward when he heard the soft padding of Dean’s feet across the carpeted floor, the squeaking of the springs on the couch as Dean sat down, pulling his leather jacket tighter around himself.

His eyes were still locked skyward-

“Roman…”

-until the raw whisper of his name settling heavy between them both made Roman finally drop his gaze and spare a glance at the younger man.

And god, did he wish that he hadn’t.

Dean was an absolute wreck.

Roman had never seen Dean look so devastated in all of the years that they had known each other. Sure, there had been the shared emotional pain of Seth’s betrayal. There had been the empty resignation after Dean had come so goddamn close to grabbing those proverbial brass rings, only to be denied at the last second. There had even been the exposure exuded every time Roman and Dean had had a fight in the past; Dean always had a hard time shrugging off words and insults that had been screamed in the heat of the moment.

But this? This vulnerability? This bone deep agony? These crumbling walls that were falling to pieces faster than Dean could patch them up with his bare hands?

This was torture.

Roman ran a hand roughly through his hair, slumping back against the headboard as he regarded the younger man. Dean’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, his cheeks stained with tears and his bottom lip bloody from too much biting. One of Dean’s hands was wrapped around the curvature of his neck, his fingernails squeezing and scratching convulsively against the soft, sensitive flesh of his throat, and Roman’s fingers twitched in his desire to stop Dean from damaging himself any further.

What struck Roman deepest though was the clouded anger and helplessness backlighting Dean’s gaze. It was a sickening torrid of darkened colours that Roman immediately wished that he’d never have to see in his brother’s eyes again, a look that he would do anything to erase.

“Well? You gonna say anything, or are you just gonna sit there and pretend nothing’s wrong, huh?”

Roman winced as the vitriolic heat in Dean’s sneer, his tone almost demanding a confrontation.

Roman knew that he couldn’t rise to it though. If things descended into an argument this time, then there would be no way back for them.

But goddamn it, Roman still couldn’t formulate any kind of response, any and all words dying on the tip of his tongue.

“Fine!” Dean pushed himself up with a burst of almost manic energy, his fingernails never leaving his throat as he started pacing the length of the couch, just out of Roman’s reach.

“You don’t wanna talk? Then I guess I’ll start then.”

Even despite the raw fury and antagonistic jeer tainting Dean’s tone, it was impossible to ignore just how brittle and hollow it was, the way that Dean was trying to keep the wavering break out of his words as he finally came to a stop, staring holes through the older man.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you fucking tell me? You had plenty of opportunities! You could’ve told me at the pay-per-view, you could’ve told me after I’d won, hell, you could’ve fucking rang me and told me! Instead, I get a text. A fucking text man!”

Dean’s words were becoming more and more frantic, finally cracking as Roman watched Dean raise a fist to his bloody mouth, trying and failing to swallow down the obvious lump in his throat.

Tears were prickling in Roman’s eyes at the sight of Dean, _his_ Dean, falling apart right before him, but Roman sat in silence. This was what Dean needed, to crash and burn and wear himself out before Roman could even think about piecing him back together.

But fuck, Roman wasn’t sure how much more of this he could listen to.

Roman’s quiet, however, only appeared to rile Dean up even more as the younger man grabbed and pulled at his own hair.

“I was so fucking happy,” Dean’s words were dangerously soft as tears once again began to run down his face. “I finally thought that winning the title would mean that I’d fucking have you back. You’d barely fucking acknowledged my existence for months man, like you were suddenly too good for me, like I wasn’t enough! I was your family, your brother, and yet the second Wrestlemania was over, I was cast aside in favour of your fucking cousins! I thought that if I had the championship, then you’d start paying attention to me again, you’d realise just how much you fucking missed me and we could go back to the way things were, but I guess that was too much to goddamn ask, huh?”

Roman was stunned into shocked stillness, his eyes going wide at Dean’s admission. Suddenly, Sami’s story about Dean’s breakdown after Wrestlemania made sense, fitted in with the timeframe of events that Roman could now start to recall.

He hadn’t deliberately thrown Dean to the wayside after his title win. After all, he was a champion, and that meant whether he liked it or not that his list of priorities had had to adapt to fit that. He knew that he hadn’t given as much time or attention to their relationship as he wanted, especially considering just how much Dean had given up to support Roman’s endeavours, but he honestly hadn’t thought that it would have this much of an effect on the younger man.

But then again, Roman thought bitterly, if he really cared for his brother, then he should have known just how badly Dean would have taken Roman’s perceived lack of interest.

“Dean, I didn’t… I…”

“This stupid belt is ruining my goddamn life, Roman. First, Seth turns on me, like everyone does. Then, you abandon me, like everyone else does. And now? Now, everything I thought I knew and loved and could rely on is fucking breaking apart! This fucking championship is cursed! I don’t even fucking want it anymore if it means that it’s going to carry on destroying everything I care about! I’m not even fit to be fucking champion, I’m always going to be some second-rate, worthless, unimportant-”

“Dean, that’s enough!”

Dean instantly fell mute, frozen in place as Roman’s words bounced around the room. Roman wouldn’t have been surprised if he could’ve been heard on the other side of the hotel, but he needed to make Dean stop. For his own sanity as much as Dean’s, he had to put an end to the litany of self-hatred that Dean was attacking himself with.

“That… That’s enough.”

Dean hadn’t moved an inch, the only sign that he was still even alive being how Dean’s eyes slipped shut, the tension bleeding out of his every limb.

Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Roman leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his knees loosely.

“Can you just… come over here and sit down? Let me explain?”

Dean showed no sign that he’d heard Roman’s meek request.

“Please? Babe?”

Dean winced, tears dripping from the end of his chin and falling to the floor as he shook his head childishly, the tremor working its way back into his small frame.

Roman knew that he was treading a very fine line, and there was a part of him that felt nauseous at using their term of affection to deliberately try and catch Dean’s attention, but Roman was at a loss as to what else he could do.

He knew that Dean was shutting himself off, was getting too far into his own head, and that was something Roman was desperate to avoid. Dean was his own worst enemy. Dean could do more damage to himself physically and emotionally than anything Roman could ever think of doing. That was just a part of who Dean was, and Roman had grown to accept it, to work around it, to try and silence the memories and abuse before they swallowed Dean whole. They were the foundations upon which Dean had built a lifetime of walls and boundaries to protect himself, and Roman cursed himself for even touching that unshakeable belief.

Taking a deep sigh, Roman bit down on his lip nervously as he bent forward and reached out his hand, brushing his fingers feather-soft against Dean’s wrist.

Dean flinched. He fucking _flinched_.

And Roman could feel his heart breaking just a little bit more.

Trying not to be perturbed, Roman silently did it again. And again. His fingertips were tracing delicate patterns against Dean’s skin, feeling how the younger man’s pulse was racing with every touch. Dean was considerably more receptive to physical displays of trust and affection than he was any words, and even this small thing seemed to be working when Dean finally stopped twitching away at every pass.

Eventually, Dean’s eyes opened again.

The poisonous anger and loathing in Dean’s gaze had all but dissipated, replaced instead with such a raw and intense vulnerability that it made Roman want to wrap his arms around Dean and never let go.

It was painful to watch, any and all words sticking in the back of Roman’s throat. If it hurt for him, then god knew just how much agony Dean was feeling, his entire being cracked open like an egg and on display for the world.

Gently curling his palm in a loose grip around Dean’s wrist, Roman felt encouraged when Dean finally responded, moving slowly to sit on the bed next to Roman, their poses mirrored.

Dean wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t shrug Roman away either when Roman tentatively entwined their hands between them, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

It was startling just how quickly Dean had gone from violently attacking Roman and himself to this still too quiet figure perched next to him, but it was progress nonetheless. Roman wasn’t even aware that he’d instinctively turned his upper body to brace against Dean’s injured shoulder, the gesture symbolic even with the actual distance between them.

“I never meant to hurt you, not even for a second. You do believe me on that, right?”

Dean curled himself up into as tight a ball as he could manage as he rested his chin on his knees, shrugging noncommittedly as he continued staring at a fixed point on the opposite side of the room.

That stung.

“Yeah, I deserve that. I should have realised so much sooner just how shitty I was being, but honestly, I was blinded by the gold and all the stuff that goes with it. I can’t sugar coat it or spin it in any other way, I lost track of what was actually important to me. Which is _you_. It always has been you, and it always will be you. And I’m sorry for not telling you that sooner. I’m sorry for not realising just how much you were spiralling after Wrestlemania – and before you get annoyed at Sami, I basically dragged it out of him – and I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me.”

Taking a chance, Roman lifted their intertwined hands and placed a gentle kiss on Dean’s red and split knuckles; he wasn’t sure when Dean had scrapped his hand up, probably somewhere between leaving and coming back, but that wasn’t of immediate importance right now. Rubbing his thumb across them tenderly, Roman almost missed the soft sounds that left Dean’s mouth.

“I get that. Gold on the brain. Wanting to prove everyone wrong about you. Prove you were the top dog. Both needed a little bit of space to deal with all the shit after that, y’know?”

A bitter chuckle left Dean’s lips as he – _finally_ – turned to face Roman.

“I just let my imagination get away from me a little bit, you know what I’m like.”

Roman wouldn’t so much call it Dean’s imagination as he would Dean’s crippling insecurities, but he knew that right now wasn’t the time to call him out on it as much as he would’ve liked to. There was another day for that fight; right now, this was fighting to save everything they had together.

“I know, but that’s no excuses for my actions,” Roman stated tightly, brokering no argument. “I own those mistakes as much as I own my current ones.”

Dean flinched again, trying to pull his hand away from Roman’s as his eyes flickered down to the floor, but Roman held firm, refusing to allow Dean to close himself off again.

“I should have told you when I found out. I should have had the decency to tell you to your face like a man, the way you deserved to find out. The fact that you found out from fucking gossip reels and blogs just…”

Roman took a deep breath, trying to will away the lump in his throat as his fingers trembled between Dean’s.

“That was shitty of me.”

Roman almost missed Dean’s flatly murmured _‘you can say that again…’,_ but it brought a brief, sad smile to his face.

“I fucked up, and yeah, I was worried about how it would reflect on me first and foremost. There’s enough people out there who don’t like me that my immediate concern was damage control, but we’ve both seen how that worked out.”

Dean gave an irritated huff, but Roman couldn’t mistake the tightening around his fingers. As much as Dean would deny it, his shell was being broken down a piece at a time by Roman’s gentle words.

“Again, that was shitty of me. But I’ve made my bed, and now I’ve got to lie in it. The entire onus of this thing is on me, and by association, you’ve gotten caught up in this mess, which is the absolute last thing I wanted.”

Dean gave another huff. “Co-dependence.” When Roman raised his eyebrow, Dean glanced away. “I went to talk to Seth. He said we’re too co-dependent. One fucks up, we both fuck up.”

It shouldn’t have surprised Roman that Dean would go and hunt out someone to talk to about this whole debacle, but Seth? That was a little bit out of right field, especially considering the depth of the history between the two men. But then again, if it meant that Dean could clear his head, he couldn’t really complain.

“Well, I guess that Seth is right about something for once in his life, but that doesn’t mean it’s the truth. I mean, you’ve been champion for what, 2 days? And you’ve already proven to the world how much you deserve to be there.”

Dean’s face fell.

“I’m only champion because you had to dro-”

“You’re the champion because you earned it! For the last three years you’ve been scratching and clawing and proving just how incredible you are, even if the fans only get the half of it. Think about it, management could’ve decided to keep the belt on Seth. They could’ve had someone else go over in the ladder match. They could’ve done so many things, Dean, and yet they gave the championship to you because they knew you deserved it.”

Roman reached up with his free hand, consequences be damned as he cradled Dean’s cheek, forcing the younger man to turn and look at him.

“That belt changes people. It hurts to say it, but it’s the truth. It changed Seth, and it changed me. But you are stronger than that championship. You are stronger than all of the current shit going around right now. Dean Ambrose ain’t for changing, no matter what happens, and that’s what I love most about you. You will never make the same kind of mistakes that I have. You will never let that belt get in the way of those you love and care about, and I am so unbelievably proud of that. I’m proud of you.”

Roman’s tone was thick with emotion as he paused, feeling the tears budding in the corners of his eyes again.

“So, here’s how we deal with this mess, okay?”

Dean nodded his head briefly, too dumbstruck to do anything else.

“I deal with _my_ mistakes. I deal with all of the shit coming _my_ way because it’s _my_ fault that I screwed up. You, you be the best fucking champion this company has ever seen, alright?”

Dean looked as if he was going to protest, his eyes wide and filled with uncertainty, but Roman cut him off, surging forward to plant his lips against Dean’s.

Dean all but instinctively melted into Roman, reaching up with his free hand to tangle his fingers into Roman’s hair, pulling it away from the older man’s face. It wasn’t a fierce clash of teeth and fire and dominance, it wasn’t a competition as their lips moulded to each other’s, it was one of the softest kisses they’d ever actually shared in all of their years together.

It built slowly, heat unfurling in Roman’s gut as he ran the tip of his tongue across Dean’s swollen bottom lip, begging for an admittance that Dean couldn’t deny. Roman could taste the coppery tang of blood, the saltiness of sweat as he challenged for purchase against Dean’s mouth, but there was also that distinct taste of _Dean_. It was heady and addictive, and as Dean gave the quietest whimper, his grip on Roman’s hair briefly tightening, Roman struggled to pull away.

Dean licked his lips tentatively, and Roman could almost feel his restraint snapping, his eyes fixed to the movement, but he cleared his throat gently. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that one kiss would magically repair weeks of trouble; there was still a cloudy mistrust and guarded nature to Dean’s stare, one that Roman would take an age to erase, but it felt like _something_.

“Besides, as Sami told me, phones and Skype exist for a reason. Just because I’m off the cards for a few weeks doesn’t mean that we can’t see each other. The second you need me, just say the word and I will be on the next flight or highway straight to you, okay? Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean that I’m going to abandon you, not again.”

Dean gave a faint smile, his eyes watery and his face flushed.

“Okay.”

“Good, now c’mere…”

Roman gave no warning before he all but pulled Dean into his lap, the younger man giving a small yelp of surprise as he buried his face into the side of Roman’s neck. Roman wrapped his arms as tight as he physically could around Dean, pressing against him; Dean briefly struggled before the tension in his body finally drained.

Before Dean was even aware of what was happening to him, he was sobbing against Roman’s throat, his tears soaking into Roman’s shirt as Roman pressed tender kisses to every part of Dean’s bare skin that he could reach. Dean’s final walls had been breached, his emotions flooding out, but Roman knew that this was needed.

This was that first step in making everything right again.

Yes, Roman thought fleetingly, this was definitely fixable.

* * *

 

**_***Epilogues***_ **

The final credits were rolling, flashes of light flickering across the otherwise darkened hotel room, but neither man could be bothered to move or turn the television off.

If Sami didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Kevin was already asleep.

Not that that bothered Sami of course.

Both men were bundled beneath the bed covers, the duvets pulled up across their naked waists. Sami’s head was resting against the broad expanse of Kevin’s shoulder, his arms draped loosely across the older man’s chest. Kevin – as he was always prone to do – almost had Sami in a bear hug, Sami tight and secure against his side, Kevin’s hands both resting on Sami’s bare hip. It was a protective, almost possessive stance, but Sami loved it.

Not that he’d ever admit it outright to Kevin’s face; he’d never live it down.

Rolling over just enough to bury his face in the curve of Kevin’s neck, Sami started pressing a wet line of kisses along the length of Kevin’s throat, his lips briefly pausing against Kevin’s throbbing pulse point. A flicker of a grin crossed his face when he felt more than heard Kevin beginning to stir, Kevin’s large hands beginning to stroke the sensitive groove of Sami’s hip and upper thigh.

“Sami…” Kevin whined sleepily, a sound he would deny ever making until his dying breath. “I’m trying to sleep sweetheart…”

Kevin’s continued groping and light scratching as his talented fingers started straying into the crease between Sami’s thigh and groin emphatically told Sami otherwise.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the sound of Sami’s phone vibrating on the bedside cabinet, then Sami was completely convinced that Kevin’s tune would have _definitely_ changed.

Giving a groan, Sami rolled over and grabbed his phone, grinning as he felt Kevin curl himself around his back, his beard scratching against the back of Sami’s shoulder as he gave a teasing bite to the meat there, soothing the slight sting with a lave of his tongue.

**_Message received 03:42_ **

_Thank you – R._

**_Message received 03:44_ **

_Also, Dean said can you teach him how to Skype? – R._

Sami gave a soft huff of amusement as he put his phone back down on the cabinet, giving a full body shudder as Kevin continued his ministrations across Sami’s shoulder blade, slowly mouthing his way up Sami’s neck to pause behind his ear.

“They good?”

Sami smiled warmly, a rush of relief warming through him as he pushed back against Kevin, subtly rolling his hips.

“Yeah, they’re good…”

***

“For the fucking love of all that’s fucking holy, what do I have to do around here to get a fucking decent sleep?!”

Seth rolled over, pawing for his phone on the side; after Ambrose’s impromptu visit earlier, Seth wasn’t sure he was in the mood for any more games, especially considering that it was nearly 4am and he still hadn’t managed any sleep.

“Stupid fucking Ambrose with his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking whining and ugh, why can’t he get out of my life already?!”

Seth’s tone was murderous, the vibrations from his phone rattling around his skull like an angry hornet, and goddamn it why couldn’t he get a goddamn break?!

Huffing in frustration as he grabbed his phone, Seth flinched at the brightness of his screen, the sudden stream of light making his head thump.

This wasn’t his night.

He gave a curse as he knocked in the unlock code, barely paying any glance to the home screen image like he usually would. No, he’d already seen enough of Ambrose today, he didn’t need to see that stupid grin mocking him.

**_***Message received 03:49***_ **

_Thank you – R._

Just as Seth was about to throw his phone across the room – after all, why couldn’t Roman wait until morning to text him, or hell, to talk to him face to face? – it vibrated again, a number flicking across the screen that made Seth’s heart briefly skip a beat in his chest.

**_***Message received 03:53***_ **

_i owe u_

Dropping the phone onto the side with more force than he needed to, Seth bit down hard on his clenched fist, resisting the urge to scream. It was pointless though. Even those 3 little words, grammatically atrocious and really rather pointless, were enough to make Seth _ache_.

Rolling over, Seth roughly yanked the covers all the way over his head, burying his face in his pillow as he tried to fall asleep again, knowing that it was going to be an even longer night than he thought possible.

That Dean fucking Ambrose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are!
> 
> Once again, a massive thank you to everyone! Please leave a review, and if you have any prompts or ideas you want to see written, then don't hesitate to let me know!


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